Spencer Cohen Series, Book Three (The Spencer Cohen Series 3) (15 page)

~
Two years later

I hung up the phone and smiled at Helen. “Grand opening in eight weeks.”

Andrew’s mother was leaning against my office desk, her hands to her mouth. “Oh, I’m so proud of you.”

“It was mostly Lewis’s doing.” I deflected her compliment. But the Archer Cohen Foundation in Sydney was just two months away from opening its doors. In the two years since Andrew and I got back from Sydney, I’d been in constant contact with Lewis and giving him the idea of this project set alight a spark in him. He’d taken the loss of our brother very hard, and building a foundation, a shelter and safe place for LGBTIQ people, was his way of grieving. Because he couldn’t help Archie when he’d needed it, he was now helping others. A tangible reflection of his guilt maybe, but a positive one.

I’d helped him as much as I could, as did Helen. She freely offered her business model to him, and anytime he had questions, needed help, he came to us. Our father wasn’t too happy about the venture, to say the least. But Lewis looked him right in the eye and said if he didn’t like it, he’d lose his last and only child. My father knew nothing of my input, but Lewis told me I had to be there on opening night, and there was no way I would let him down. “Let him see us,” Lewis had said. “He has no ties to this foundation, at all.” Lewis had been very certain to keep it that way. “It’s our money, our fundraising. He can’t touch it. And when he sees you standing with me on opening night, I hope it eats him alive.”

I’d tried to reason that his position at Atoll Hotels would be in jeopardy, but Lewis wouldn’t be swayed. “There are more important things, Spence. I know where my loyalties lie. Right where they should have been all along.”

His words put a lump in my throat. “I’m proud of you,” I’d told him, just moments before Andrew’s mother said those very words to me.

“You and Andrew will have to go,” Helen said. “Take a few weeks off, spend time with Lewis. Travel, relax. You’ve earned it.”

I smiled at her. “Thanks. I’ll check that Andrew can get the time off before I agree.”

I’d started helping Helen at the Acacia Foundation, searching out at-risk teens and young adults, subject to abuse and discrimination because of their sexuality or gender. It was a liaison-officer-type role. These kids could relate to me, and I to them. In hindsight, it was the perfect role for me. What started as a case-only helping hand became an almost full-time job. My days as a relationship-fixer were long over. I now did four days a week at the Acacia Foundation and still helped Emilio at his shop a day or two a week as well. I’d moved into Andrew’s place about a year ago, so me helping Emilio out was a good excuse to hang out with him. We still did our Sunday brunch at the shop every week without fail.

Maybe I could ask Yanni if he wanted to be a guest speaker at the opening night in Sydney. If anyone could vouch for the success of such foundations, it was him. Peter would undoubtedly go with him: they’d been inseparable since they first met. Their friendship became so much more than a love for silent films. It had been a long, two-year road for them, but a very far-removed Yanni from the one I first met, now called himself Peter’s
well-kept twink
, bossing him around lavishly. Peter gave into every whim with only fondness in his eyes, yet it was clear to everyone just how much Yanni adored him. Yanni idolised him. They truly had the whole daddy-kink thing down to a fine art, and I claimed them to be my greatest relationship success story… besides mine and Andrew’s, of course.

“Oh, here’s Andrew now,” Helen said, breaking me from my reverie.

And wasn’t he a sight for sore eyes. Man, I could just drink him in. Two years on and seeing him still tripped my heart over.

Helen chuckled. “You know what my favourite thing is about you, Spencer?”

I looked from where Andrew was walking in and stared at her. God, this could go either way. “Um, no?”

“The look on your face when you see my son. I mean, I’m so very pleased that he’s happy and how well you treat him, of course. But when he walks in here and you lay eyes on him, your whole face changes. It’s like a light switches on from the inside.”

“Oh.”

“He takes your breath away.”

I cleared my throat. “He does.”

Helen sighed serenely just as Andrew stuck his head around the open doorframe. “Can I come in?”

“Of course,” his mother said with a loving smile. She stood gracefully and breezed to the door. “I was just telling Spencer it was adorable how he looked at you.”

Andrew pressed his lips together and looked at me apologetically.

I shrugged and shook my head. “I’m not embarrassed.”

Helen kissed Andrew’s cheek and disappeared down the hall. Andrew walked in, and leaning down, he kissed me.

I breathed in his scent. In two years, my love for how he smelled hadn’t lessened at all. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

He leaned his arse against my desk. “Can’t I drop by and see my boyfriend at work?”

“You can.”

“I had to run some errands for the boss’s boss and was just a block or two over. I can’t stay, though. I’m expected back before close of business. Just wanted to check you’re still on for tonight?”

Andrew had lined up drinks with everyone at The Bassline, a relatively new jazz bar that he loved. It wasn’t too unusual; he’d organised a few drinks sessions there for all our friends before. The crowd was always good, the food was great, and the music was awesome. “Wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”

“Want me to pick you up?”

I checked my watch. It was a little after four already. “I’ll have to meet you there. Is that okay? I have a few hours of work left to do yet, and it’ll be quicker if I just go straight there.” I looked down at what I was wearing. It was black trousers, a grey button down shirt, and black suspenders. “Is this okay?”

“You always look great.”

I waited while he looked me up and down. He loved it when I wore suspenders, though he’d not said as much, his eyes gave him away. I put my thumb under the elastic and pulled on it. “I can do a private showing if you’d like?”

He kinda laughed me off, blushing a little. I’d expected him to admonish me, but instead he said, “Later.”

I groaned out a laugh. “You’re killing me. How am I supposed to work thinking about that?”

He grinned. “Yes, on that note, I should get going before… well, before we get you into trouble at work.” He stood to leave. “I’ll see you tonight.”

“Oh, before I forget. I just spoke to Lewis. He asked if we could be there for the grand opening in eight weeks.”

His reply was immediate and straight from the heart. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

“Your mum suggested we have a bit of a vacation while we’re there?” I shrugged. “Check with work and see if you can.”

“I will.” He leaned down and kissed me again. “And about tonight, don’t be too late.” And he walked out with a smile.

* * * *

By the time I walked into the bar, I was about half an hour later than I’d said I would be. There was quite a crowd, and I had to push my way through to the back where I knew Andrew would be. Closest to the stage and the swinging jazz music, as usual.

Except he wasn’t. He was at the end of the bar with Emilio, and I watched with shocked amusement as they both threw back shots. Alright then. That was unusual. Emilio clapped his hand on Andrew’s arm, just as Andrew spotted me. He said something, which I couldn’t hear, but Emilio turned around and grinned when he saw me. “Hey, Spencer!” he cried. “Lemme get you a drink.”

He ordered another round of tequila, which told me something was up. Emilio rarely drank liquor, and the last time he had tequila was the day my visa for permanent residence came through. He swore after that night he’d never drink it again, so something was definitely up.

“What’s the occasion?” I asked, then downed the shot.

Andrew almost swallowed his shot glass, so Emilio answered. “It’s Friday.”

Jesus. The alcohol burned from my scalp to my toes. I exhaled through it and fixed my gaze on Andrew. He let out a laugh and seemed out of sorts. “Everything okay?”

He licked his lips and nodded quickly. “Everything’s fine. Except that tequila is really not good.”

I leaned in to talk over the music. “So why are you having it?”

Andrew answered with a nervous laugh. “Oh, it was Emilio’s idea.”

Okay then. Something was
most definitely
up.

That was when I looked over at the tables. Everyone was there. I mean, everyone. His friends, my friends, his parents?
What the fuck?

Then the band stopped, and before I could ask Andrew what was going on, the barman said, “Hey buddy, what can I get for ya?”

I turned to him. “Bottled water? Times two.” I figured if Andrew had had some shots of tequila, he could probably use some water. I put a twenty on the bar just as the band singer spoke over the microphone.

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” she said. “We’ll be taking a short break, but before we do, we have a special guest.”

Almost everyone in the bar was now facing the stage, so I did too. Only to see Andrew walking over to the lady with the microphone.

Okay, things were officially fucking weird.

The stage lights made it hard to tell if he was pale green from stage fright or bright red from embarrassment. He looked a bit of both. Then he sat at the piano.

My drinks and change forgotten, I stared at him. What the hell was he doing? He hated playing in front of crowds. Hated it. He’d once likened it to being set on fire. He adjusted the microphone, and I could see his hands were shaking. “Um, I have,” he said too loudly, then backed off a bit to start again. He cleared his throat. “I have something,” but then he looked down and mumbled something no one could hear. The microphone made a high-pitched keening sound, and a few people somewhere in the crowd laughed.

Andrew put his hands to the keys. “Um.”

Someone in the crowd called out, “Can you play? Or you just gonna stutter into the microphone?”

Before I could tell that arsehole to shut the fuck up, Andrew zipped through the first few bars of “The Flight of the Bumblebee”, his fingers skimming over the ivories with well-practiced finesse, which was pianist code for “Hey arsehole, shut the fuck up.”

The audience clapped and laughed, and Andrew ran his hands through his hair. “Um, Spencer?”

I hadn’t realised I’d taken a few steps toward the stage. I seemed to be the only one on the dance floor; the entire bar was staring at us.

Andrew took a deep breath to centre himself and put his hands back to the keys, and he started to play. In our two years together, Andrew had never played me this.

“Hallelujah.”

I didn’t even know Andrew knew how to play this song… And then he started to sing.

And sweet mother of God, deep, nervous, and perfect, Andrew had the voice of an angel. So different from Jeff Buckley, so sweet and raspy and reverent. He sang about sacred chords, and baffled kings, and beauty in the moonlight.

I couldn’t fathom how difficult it must have been for him to do this. Yet, there he was. Doing it for me. My stupid heart was thumping erratically, and my stupid brain couldn’t process what I was seeing.

I looked behind me to see Lola and Emilio, Gabe and Daniela, everyone smiling at me like they knew what was going on. They knew he was going to play the piano and sing for me?

I turned back just as the other musicians were taking the stage. The drummer joined in, then the bass, the trumpet, and the woman sung along with Andrew about marble arches and victory marches, and the whole band played the song like they wrote it.

The crescendo was phenomenal and I could feel the beat resonating in my chest. But before the final bridge, the song morphed into something else. It was a medley of songs that the audience cheered for until the music evened out into just one song.

I wasn’t
as
familiar with this song, though I knew what it was. The woman sang soulfully, beautifully, about it being a beautiful night, that love was such a wonderful thing.

Andrew stood up from the piano and stepped off the stage. He looked right at me and the music cut. Complete silence filled the room, then our group of friends and family, led by Emilio and Lola and Andrew’s parents, sang the next line.

“If I could, I totally would, marry you.”

I spun to look at them and then turned back to Andrew to find him on bended knee in front of me.

I have no clue if the band still played. I don’t know if our friends still sang. I don’t know what the audience behind me did…

All there was, all I could see was Andrew.

He took a silver ring from his pocket and held it on the palm of his hand. He whispered, or maybe he shouted over the noise my brain shut out. I still couldn’t tell. But I heard him just fine.

“Spencer Cohen, if there was a magazine called
The Only Man I Want to Spend My Life With
, you’d be on the cover, of every edition, ever. You are everything to me. You deserve more love and happiness than I can give you in one lifetime, but I’d sure like to try. Marry me. Please.”